The Birds

I have four birds tattooed on the insides of my wrists. Every single thing about them is deeply personal and important to me. What they are. Where thier placement is. When I got them. But when it all comes down to it I put them there to try to save my own life. They are there to keep me from killing myself. More precisely they are there to keep me from deciding that one day that I would like to see just how much blood one of my veins or arteries could spill out when split. They are there to keep me from accidentally taking my life. A possibility that is unfortunately incredibly plauseable for me at this point. So the birds block the veins. Thier wings and tails cover the arteries. Their delicate feathers remind me that this is worth fighting for. That life is not something to be thrown away. On purpose or by accident. I don't show them to people. I don't talk about them unless asked and usually even then I stick to praising the tattoo artist and pointing out how well they were done. Since I have gotten them I have told my best friend and I have told Mike. Anybody else who has seen them has just that- seen them. I've had them for over a quarter of a year now and my only family and friends that know are those who have actually been in my physical presence in the past 3 months. I went alone to get them, purposefully, when Mike was out of town. If he had been in town I would have gone while he was at work anyway. I wanted to be alone. I sat with the tattoo artist, mostly in silence, for close to 4 hours, just watching and feeling the birds embroidered into my skin. Absorbing the imagery mentally as well as physically. Taking in the pain it represents in all forms. Alone, I was able to revel in the one of the few chances I get these days to accompany the internal pain with actual non-questionable physical pain. To feel the pain in a way I don't normally get to. The tattoos face me- upright when I hold my hands to my face. Into my body when my arms are by my sides. They are for me, so much so that in order for someone else to see them clearly and upright they basically have to stand behind me and look over my shoulder. I very consiously made that decision when i got them. They are for me to see and me to feel. Anyone else who sees them is secondary. They are not a badge or a decoration for the outside world so much as they are a promise to myself. An image for myself. A reminder of the fight and the pain, the strength and the artistry that are my life. As corny as it sounds. They are my jesus. they are my savior. even better they are me. the part of me that is good and strong and willing to fight. When I first thought of getting these tattoos I wanted one on my wrist right above my pulse. A small black square. It was to represent the struggle of my eating disorders. When you are in the hospital they take your pulse a lot. Partially just because it is a hospital and partially because as an anorexic you are in essance slowly killing yourself. The nurses want to make sure you are still alive today. Ever since I was first hospitalized I have found myself reaching for my pulse when I'm sick or stressed or lightheaded or dizzy (as I tend to get a lot- at this very moment I can barely see the words, my screen is rocking so much.). I grasp onto my wrist and feel for the beating. When I'm lightheaded or dizzy it reminds me that yes I am still alive. My heart is still beating- it is all still working- it is all still ok. When I'm stressed or scared or I feel like my heart is racing the slow steady pulsing calms me. Reminding me again that it is still all working. That it is still ok. As long as my heart keeps beating I can make it through whatever. It is one of the only constistancies I have in a world that is continuously spinning and shaking and folding in on itself. My heart keeps beating. It is the fight. I wanted a black box at the point my fingers reach for to symbolize that consistant fight. but at some point I saw an image of two songbirds. I had been thinking that anything symbolizing the fight had to be as dark and empty as the fight itself. But the birds were beautiful and I felt something toward the image. And I wanted it. I grappled with the thought that the fight isn't pretty. It isn't superficial or ornate. It is painful and it is hollow and it is never ending. Putting birds in that spot undermined the pain and the helplessness that the spot above my pulse represented to me. And the images weren't origonal enough- they weren't me. But I wanted them. And as I thought of them more I began to feel them there. These two birds on my wrists began to carry me. When it hurt too much, when I just wanted to stop, the birds started to carry me through. I can see them holding on my limp wrists dragging my defeated body through the world. For a little while there they were accompanied with a theme song of "I'll fly away". The song is religious and if you imagine it the way I do the birds are carrying me in a very cruficial like fashion. Which bothers me. I curled up on my couch one day- "i'll fly away" on repeat on my itunes sobbing hysterically and trying to understand my minds imagry. I am not a religious person. I do not have a god or symbols that give me strength outside of myself. But these birds- I have these birds. Along with an entire cast of characters that live within my mind's world. They are my gods and my devils. There is a mouse in my chest that scrapes at my ribcage in anxiety. A neighboorhood of fuzzy balls- like dustballs or cat toys- that inhabit my lungs and steal the air when I'm stressed. A family of ameabas named Joey. A black crow that I don't understand but can only assume represents death or sorrow. Or both. They have all come into my life as an adult. I was not a child that had imaginary friends yet somehow I find myself to be an adult with an entire set of imaginary enemies. I think when you live in pain for a long time at some point you must give that pain a name. I have given mine many. And it helps get me through. I am visual- I deal with things by seeing them. Creating a world in a way that I want to or need to see it so that I can deal with it. It makes perfect sense that I should create so many visual manifestations of my pain. It is the only way I know how to even start relating to it. On top of that I am catholic. Not in the sense that I believe in, well anything, that the catholic church believes in. But in the sense that I want people I can turn to. Just like my mother's mom had a little visage of st____that she prayed to for good weather. and my father's mother's had a dresser covered with statues of mary and jesus and saint paul along with at least a dozen other saints I never learned the names of. I need to be talking to someone. I need to pleading with a face, a name, a story. Crying out for help onto a seemly empty sky or into a seemly helpless soul feels hopeless. So I cry to the birds. I pray to the birds. I beg them to help me. To carry me. To fly me away. And they do. Because they are me. And I am the only one who will ever be able to save myself from a disease that is my internal devil.